The Witch
by R.M1
Summary: Who else thought Valgarv was a little...dillusional? Yaoi subtext that slowly becomes actual text ^^;;


i can't believe myself sometimes... A:link { color red; TEXT-DECORATION: none } A:visited { color red; TEXT-DECORATION: none } A:unknown { color red; TEXT-ALIGN: justify; TEXT-DECORATION: none } A:hover { BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; color #545645 } 

Notes: No offense meant by the usage of the word "witch". I'm wiccan myself so I wouldn't be insulted others who practice the craft. This came about after listening to Nine Inch Nails so it's full of dark and rather disturbing imagery. There's major yaoi subtext in here, to the point where it pretty much becomes actual text ^^;;; Major weirdness. The 'he' in here is Valgarv, because his name is not in here until, oh the last line -_- I sort of want to make this longer but it frightens me greatly so I may not. 

**the witch**

_I will kiss thy lips;  
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,  
To make die with a restorative.  
...Thy lips are warm....  
-William Shakesphere _

_"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."  
- Exodus 22:18_

He sat in a tiny room, something of a glass asylum. The walls were white, the windows large bay ones that overlooked a beautiful garden. The ashen curtains were still, and the only sound in the room with his small, chest breaking sobs, his head in his twisted hands. 

Everything had fallen apart. It may have taken a thousand years but his world was in shambles. It was no longer you and I against them, it was him against them. 

Them. 

They were the rest of the world; the angels who had torn his first life to shreads and the demons that had eaten away the only part of this disgusting universe he truely loved. 

But it could all go away. As long as he hid in his mind, in this little room with his memories, he would be fine. So he sat, trying to forget about the deranged fairie tale he was living in. Except there would be no happily ever after. 

Then again, there were never any happy endings. In the end of the witch had won and the princess lies tangled in briars, sobbing for her dead prince. The princess's dress is caked with mud, the ribbons and bows faded, leaving it as disgusting as the world seemed. 

Soft lips against his own, swaying in unision, being needed above all else. Nights spent in that white room where everything was perfect. He'd managed to recreate the room just enough so that he could wallow in the has beens of yesterday. Or was it tomorrow. It was amazing to him how quickly things like dates stopped mattering when every day was a lifetime in itself. 

The Witch smiles, lips curling into a red smile as crimson slides off the corners of her mouth. "Aw, is something the matter little princess?" she bends down, letting her hands move through his hair, smirking all the while. "You could never pass for anything but what you are. Enjoy your little room while I wander the earth looking for more pain and misery just waiting to be made. Old wounds are easy to open you know." the Witch chuckles lightly, just enough to make his skin prickle at her touches as her hand traced the outline of his face. 

"Stop it!" he springs to his feet, lashing out at the air as the Witch dances around him. "Why did you have to?! We hadn't done..." he trails off, finding his voice was lost in a sea of dispare. 

"Anything? Gimme a break, he tried to kill me." this time the Witch's voice is bitter, having a somewhat rotten tone to it. "Don't give me that bull shit." 

"It's not!" 

She smirks, picking the up folds of her raven dress, which seems to hold the stars and planets and the very universe itself in them. "You know I really loved it. Killing your Prince I mean. My sword..." she laughs hollowly, the voice reverberating across the beautiful white room. "God it was good. Killing him. Just tearing that blade cutting through his flesh..." from under her clothes she produces the blade in question, a thin dark thing with a ruby studded to the top and dried blood on the hilt. 

His eyes widen so that the whole world can see the tiny shards of amber glass that were his pupils, and he claws madly for the sword. The Witch side steps him, sending him sprawling onto the floor. 

She is snickering again, twirling around, dress flying in a thousand different directions and crimson hair looking like split blood. Her black boots click down, shattering the lovely, wonderful gray marble floor, and what comes up? Blood. Blood mixed in with flies and maggots and a matter of things which he doesn't want to think about. She laughs, hysterically. 

"Oh..Gods..." he looks down, his hands covered in maggots that look hungry for flesh and flies that buzz around his face. He screams, groping at himself in vains attempting to pry the insects off his body. They cling and. 

And they begin to feed. 

"You deserve it," she says, pacing around him. "You deserve it for selling your soul to your bastard of a Prince. I hate you. I hated him. I was so glad when I finally put an end to him!" The Witch shouts, tracing a circular pace around him, her gown occasionally swipping across his face. "Your whole fucking race is sick! Sick!" 

"They aren't my race!" he yells. 

"Not yours? Then what *is* your race?" He gives no reply, for the question could never truely apply to him. She smiles coldly, like ice carved into lips. "I thought not." Her eyes are flacing with hatred and malice. "Tell me little princess, did you love your prince? Hm? Or do you just like touching yourself thinking about the way he used to touch you?" 

He blushes. He never blushes. The room is decaying now, spiderwebs and dust and all sorts of insects living in the floor and bay windows. His gaze falls on the garden outside, where the roses have turned a hidious, rotting black. He sinks to his knees, cold and humilated. "...I cared about him." 

"In other words you were his whore." 

He has no answer, and the Witch glares at him, turning on her toes. Then...then she swivles around. "I'm going to kill you too. I'm going to kill you." 

"Haven't...haven't you ruined everything enough?" he mumbles, curling his legs up to his face and resting his chin on his knees. 

"What have I ruined? Hm? Your *love*? Your non-existant life?" she is cold. Her voice is like breathing in ice, chocking him and filling his chest with cold, bitter loneliness. "I have the right to kill and hurt because I'm a Witch. I can have anything I want." 

"Fucking leave me alone!" 

"I'll be seeing you." the Witch cackles. 

"FU-" 

Valgarv wakes him drenched in sweat, confused and dizzy. It wakes up in the room where he has woken up in a million times before, but there is no one beside him. The Witch is gone, leaving nothing but needles of thought buried into his brain. If he could cry, he would be sobbing now. If he could bleed, he's be cutting through the thin tendrals of flesh warpped around his hands. "I'll kill her...before she kills me. I'll burn the damn Witch...I swear to you...I swear I will." 

~FINIS~ 

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